Accustomed to Her Face
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: The Joker doesn't realize how good he had it with Harley Quinn until something goes wrong during a battle with Batman, and he has to cope with life alone.
1. Chapter 1

**Accustomed to Her Face**

"That's it, Bats, harder! Aw, c'mon, harder, baby!" laughed Joker, bleeding and battered, as Batman punched him mercilessly. "You know I love the way it hurts!"

Batman seized him around the throat, holding him against the wall, eyes narrowed in hatred. "C'mon, Batsy, do it!" hissed Joker, eyes gleaming. "Kill me! You know you want to! And I want to be your first! Been saving myself for you, cutie, and you've been playing with me for so long! Ain't you ready for it by now?"

For an instant, Batman's hand tightened around Joker's neck. It was so tempting to choke the life out of him, but something held him back. Something always held him back. With a growl, he dropped him to the ground.

Joker laughed again. "Aw, Batsy, you're such a tease!" he giggled. "When are you finally going to take that big step and become a man? I want to make it memorable for you – I want you to never forget your first time. But I guess you need a little more foreplay to get you in the mood!"

He ripped out a knife from his jacket and stabbed it into Batman's leg, cackling. Batman roared, ripping out the blade and striking Joker in the face, knocking his skull against the wall. He grabbed him around the throat again. "I will never let you win!" he hissed. "Never!"

"I get it, Bats, I get it," gasped Joker, still laughing although he struggled to breathe. "You ain't a traditional kinda guy. Maybe I can interest you in a threesome?"

At that moment, something slammed into Batman's skull, making him drop Joker and reel back in agony. There was another blow as something collided with chest, shooting ropes around his body and making him fall to the ground. His vision cleared enough to see Harley Quinn, holding her hammer in one hand and a smoking gun in the other, smiling at him. "Sorry, Bats, but I'm the jealous type!" she laughed. "Don't like anyone threatening puddin' but me."

"And I'm a one woman loon, really," said Joker as Harley helped him to his feet. He kissed her cheek and then they both came over to Batman, smiling.

"Well now, pooh, Bats looks to be all tied up," said Joker, grinning at her. "That should put him in the mood if anything will. It always does the trick for you."

"You think we should be gentle with him for his first time, Mr. J?" asked Harley, grinning back.

"Nah, Bats likes it rough," retorted Joker, smiling. "He's that kinda guy. I can tell."

"Good thing we both do too, huh, Mr. J?" asked Harley, beaming. "Wouldn't want to disappoint him."

"Oh, no fear of that, pumpkin!" laughed Joker. "Batsy's gonna remember this. He's gonna hurt for days afterward!"

He laughed hysterically as Harley began beating Batman with her hammer. His eyes were alight and beaming as he watched Harley inflict blow after blow, chuckling madly. He held up his hand at last, indicating that Harley stop, then picked up his knife, crouching down in front of Batman. "Now let's see if we can't turn that frown upside down!" he giggled, holding the knife against Batman's cheek and leaning into his face. "C'mon Bats, give me a nice, big smile!"

Batman headbutted him suddenly, making him drop the knife. He had managed to get one of his hands free during the beating and now grabbed the fallen knife, slicing it down his ropes and freeing himself. He leapt to his feet, punching Joker in the face again, and kicked out as Harley rushed toward them, knocking her into the wall. He kicked Joker down and then dragged him up by his collar to face him. "It's over, Joker," he hissed.

Joker grinned at him through bloodied teeth. "Over? Why my dear delusional Dark Knight, it hasn't even begun!"

With a chuckle he pressed a button in his pocket, and the building around them suddenly exploded. Batman and Joker were thrown to opposite ends of the room, Joker landing next to Harley. He seized her hand. "C'mon," he snapped, rushing for the exit.

The wooden floor of the building had caught fire quickly, and it was spreading fast. Harley's foot suddenly went through a floorboard and she fell, shrieking, into the burning hole. Joker, holding her hand, was dragged backwards and turned to see her struggling to pull herself up, panic in her eyes.

He rushed over to her, grabbing her other hand and shouting, "You stupid, clumsy girl! Can't you do anything right, you useless waste of space?!"

She was terrified, clutching his hands tightly as she glanced at the burning pit of fire below her. "Mr. J…" she gasped.

"C'mon," he interrupted, struggling to pull her up. "Jesus Christ, when did you get so heavy?! You're going on a diet the moment we get home, you hear me, you worthless dame?!"

At that moment, Batman leapt on top of him, causing the floorboard supporting Joker and Harley to crack. The floor shuddered and split, and the force of Batman knocking against Joker made him lose his grip on Harley. He recovered immediately and shot his hand out to grab hold of her again, at the same moment Batman dove to catch her.

They were both too late. With a scream, Harley disappeared from sight into the blazing inferno. "Harley!" shouted Joker, in a mixture of fury and shock. Batman too gazed at where she had disappeared in surprise – he had never been too late before.

But there was no time to think about that now. He tried to seize Joker, but his reflexes were good, and he had scrambled away from him. The roof was collapsing in flames, and Batman barely had time to burst through a window and get outside before the building fell in on itself. He turned back to stare at the burning pile of rubble, wondering if the Joker had got out in time, or if the two of them were buried together under there. Whatever had happened to Joker, Batman thought, with more pain than he should have felt at the death of a homicidal maniac, that rubble marked the final resting place of Harley Quinn.


	2. Chapter 2

Joker had got out of the building in time, but didn't turn to look back at it. He wasn't a sentimental guy, especially when the Bat was on his heels. At the moment he just felt lucky the Bat had left him in a fit state to run – normally after their battles he could barely move. And despite the pain that shot through him as he felt his ribs bruising his lungs, he hurried toward his car. It was only after he reached it that he remembered Harley had the keys. And Harley was gone.

He growled in annoyance. "Useless dame!" he snarled, punching his fist through the window and unlocking the door, despite the glass cutting into his hand. He ripped open the door, then went around to the front of the car to hotwire it, checking to see if Batman was following. He didn't appear to be, which was a relief. He chuckled to himself as he considered that Harley was finally useful now that she was dead – her demise had managed to distract the Bat at least.

The engine started up and he climbed into the driver's seat, backing up and racing out into the streets of Gotham, still laughing to himself. He stopped laughing at last and there was silence. Deep, heavy, oppressive silence. He didn't really like silence. But he didn't want to talk to himself either – that would be crazy. He chuckled again, and began singing. "_Who cares what they're wearing on Main Street or Saville Row? It's what you wear from ear to ear, and not from head to toe that matters! So senator, so janitor, so long for a while – remember you're never fully dressed without a smile!_"

He stopped singing suddenly, realizing that he couldn't continue the song. Harley always took the next verse – he remembered the last time they had sung it over the sounds of shrieking and screaming as they mutilated the asylum guards. A strange sensation came over him as he realized that was the last time he would ever do that. He suddenly just didn't feel like laughing, which was odd. He was surprised by the realization that he wasn't part of a double act anymore – from now on it was solo, stand-up comedy only.

He shrugged. Well, that was fine. He was good at stand-up. And Harley had never been funny anyway. They had never been a comedy duo, not like Laurel and Hardy or Abbott and Costello. He was the funny one, and she was like the pathetic groupie trying in vain to equal his greatness. She was only ever useful as a punchline, or a punching bag. Most of the time they were one and the same.

He shrugged again. He would just have to take his rage out on a real punching bag now, he guessed. Harley had been, in the end, just a tool, initially a tool to escape from Arkham, and since then she had become just like any other henchman, really. He had lost henchmen before. They had never mattered. And neither did Harley. Yeah, she could be a sweet kid sometimes. But he would be lying if he told himself he wasn't relieved at her absence. He would finally get a little personal space – no annoying brat clinging to him all the goddamn time, demanding attention, showering him with unwanted affection, always yammering and shooting off her useless mouth, always suffocating him, both literally and metaphorically. Well, he was free and single again now. No stupid broad weighing him down, no dumb blonde with her shrill, annoying voice crying, "Oh, Mistah J!"

The sense of relief became stronger when he realized he would never hear "Mistah J" again. Or "puddin'." He loathed puddin'. And he would never have to hear it ever again. He laughed hysterically at this, beaming in joy. "Should have killed her a long time ago!" he chuckled to himself.

Then his face fell again. He hadn't killed her, though. Not really. Well, he had set the building on fire, and he had technically let go of her, but it had been the Bat's fault. He had been trying to…save her. Why had he been trying to do that? If the brat had been clumsy enough to fall, he should have left her behind. He should have dropped her into that burning pit himself, and laughed as he did it. But he hadn't thought about it at the time – saving her was just a natural reaction. Instinctive…

He didn't like that at all. He was the Joker. Why would his instincts tell him to save another human being? He hated human beings. They were all worthless – punchlines to jokes, the whole lot of them. Especially Harley. She had been a joke from the beginning – a dumb blonde shrink stupid enough to fall in love with her patient. Stupid enough to believe all the lies he had told her. Stupid enough to believe him when he said he loved her. And she had kept believing that, even when he thought the joke had got old. She never got tired of hearing that one.

Well, he had got tired of her repeating the joke to him. "I love you, Mr. J," she would say. "I love you, puddin'." That was the one that really riled him, and even remembering it made his hands tighten on the steering wheel. They had itched to tighten around her throat whenever she had said that. She had been so stupid. So thick, not to get that he was joking when he said it. Not to get that the whole thing had been a setup from the beginning. He had never loved her – he was the Joker, he didn't love anyone.

He pulled the car up at the hideout and went inside, shutting the door firmly behind him. He walked down the hall to their – his, he reminded himself – his bedroom and turned on the lights. Harley's crap was still all over the bed – makeup, clothes, hair accessories - the brat always left a mess when they had to go out. No matter how much warning he gave her in advance, she still took forever getting ready and always made them late for everything. With an angry swipe, he knocked her stuff off the bed and stamped on it violently, then stopped suddenly as the pain from his wounds shot through his body. With a growl he headed for the bathroom and looked around for the antiseptic.

"Where has the useless little brat put it?!" he shouted, knocking bottles aside with a crash. Normally Harley was the one to tend his wounds, so would have known the location of the antiseptic. He gave up at last and just grabbed some bandages, storming back into the bedroom and kicking her stuff on the floor again for good measure. Maybe tomorrow he would make a pile of all her crap and make a bonfire out of it. He always enjoyed a good bonfire. "It's only fitting that Harley's stuff go out the same way Harley did – in goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!" he said to no one in particular.

He laughed again. That was a good one. Shame Harley hadn't heard it – she would have laughed. She always laughed at his jokes. That was another useful thing about her, she was always an appreciative audience. He never got the respect or admiration he deserved from the people of Gotham, those stupid, small-minded fools who worshipped a brooding freak in a bat costume. Harley had been one of the few to appreciate the true nature of his genius, to understand that he was utterly brilliant and worthy of complete adoration. Not that he wanted adoration – he wasn't an affectionate guy at the best of times. But a little appreciation now and then from a captive audience was no bad thing. It was every comedian's dream, really.

Well, he could do without it. He had done without it for a long time. Nice as it was, he didn't need it - appreciation, or affection in general. He was the Joker – he got his kicks out of mayhem and mutilation, and he could accomplish those without Harley.

He nodded again firmly and began to undress and put on the bandages. It was difficult for him to reach the cuts on his back – Harley had always done those for him. He noticed the silence again, and disliked it. It was better than the little brat jabbering away at him as she always did though, he reminded himself. He whistled as he finished bandaging his wounds and climbed into bed, sighing in satisfaction as he stretched out – he could never really stretch out with Harley there. And the dame always crowded him, rolling over and taking up half the bed, clinging to him as if her life depended on it. At least he could breathe now.

His eyes fell upon her pillow and he suddenly had a very vivid memory of the other night. Harley had managed to convince him to "rev up his Harley," as she liked to call it. (He had gotten sick of that particular joke the first time she said it, but she thought it was cute, so continued to use it whenever she referred to their intimate moments.) He wasn't a guy with the usual physical needs in that way, but he was a guy who enjoyed fun, and the time he was remembering had been a lot of fun. It was the moment after they were done, and lying side by side, she gazing at him with her big, blue eyes shining in adoration.

"I love you, Mr. J," she whispered.

"Broken record, kid," he retorted, grinning at her.

"I like saying it," she murmured, smiling. "It makes me feel good. To know that my life has some meaning, y'know."

He shook his head. "Life don't have any meaning, kiddo. If you learn nothing else hanging around me, you should have learned that. It's crazy, insane, complete nonsense. One great, big joke."

She grinned. "You're wrong, Mr. J," she whispered, snuggling against his chest. "You've given my life reason. I used to think it was crazy and random, but then I met you, and suddenly everything made sense. When I was a shrink, I used to think I could find purpose in books and studying – y'know, that if I read and thought enough, one day I'd find some great, hidden message, the meaning of life, or something. And then I found you, and I did. I fell in love with you, and found my destiny. I was meant to be your Harley Quinn. I was meant to be with you and help you and love you. Because I need to do that. That's my purpose. And you need me to love you, don't you, Mr. J? You need me, right?"

"Sure, kid, whatever you say," he yawned. He hadn't really been listening at the time, but he suddenly remembered it now, and it hurt. "Bedtime, ok?"

"Ok," she whispered, shutting her eyes. He rolled away from her – he could never sleep facing her, but she was used to that, putting her arms around him and cuddling against his back. "I love you, puddin'," she whispered.

"I love you, puddin'." The words echoed in his mind again as he came back to the present. He shook his head violently to clear the image and turned away, shutting his eyes and trying to sleep.

The bed was cold. That was it. That was the reason he couldn't sleep, he told himself, hours later. He couldn't sleep when he was cold. He stood up and went to pull on his pajamas and bathrobe, and then returned to bed. He stared into the darkness as the minutes ticked by. Now why couldn't he sleep? He wasn't cold anymore. Maybe he had had too much coffee today – Harley tended to always make too much, and just kept pouring it for him, like a pushy waitress in a diner. At least he wouldn't have to put up with her trying to give him caffeine poisoning anymore. Or food poisoning – the kid had been a lousy cook. Of course it did mean he would have to make his own meals from now on. He wasn't looking forward to that – he was a busy man, a genius, he didn't have time for mundane chores like cooking. Harley had been useful in that regard, he had to admit.

He sighed, rolling over to face her pillow. The truth, if he dared admit it to himself, was that something was missing. That was the reason he couldn't sleep. His world, which was pretty disordered anyway, really didn't feel right now. It wasn't right without Harley there. She was a constant – in the shifting chaos of life, he could always depend on two things: first, that Batsy would show up to stop his schemes. And second, that Harley would be there clinging onto him in adoration and love. Without those two pillars, even the madness didn't make sense to him. But he resented the thought that he depended on anyone in order to function, let alone the Dork Knight and the Dumb Blonde. It wasn't true. The only reason he thought it was true was because he thought it. That sounded like one of the Mad Hatter's sentences, but it did make sense. He had read it in a book somewhere or something: "There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so." And the Joker wasn't the sort of man to allow thinking to get in the way of his life.

He rolled over again. The only reason this was really bothering him so much was because of the manner of Harley's death. The unclear, uncertain manner. He hadn't really been the one to kill her. Bats had. And he didn't like the thought of Harley being Batsy's first kill, taking that right away from him. Or maybe they both had killed her, but he didn't like the thought of sharing either. He had always wanted to be the one to do it. He had had her death all planned out. She would have enjoyed it – she would have been begging him for it. She always enjoyed begging him for things. She hadn't enjoyed it the way it had happened. He hadn't been in control of it. It annoyed him because it was chaos he hadn't controlled, madness he hadn't started, a joke on her, but not by him.

Yes, that was it, he assured himself, shutting his eyes again. He had wanted to be the one to kill her, and he hadn't, in the end. That was what was bothering him, he told himself, as he prepared for a good night's sleep. That was it. And that was all.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn't sleep well. And when he finally did manage to drop off, he woke up the next morning to pain throbbing through every inch of his body. He didn't mind pain usually, and frequently it was kinda a turn on, but this particular kind of agony was overwhelming. "Harley!" he shouted, managing to roll over with a hiss. "Get your lazy ass out of bed and go get me some painkillers and some breakfast, you useless…"

He stopped when he realized Harley wasn't lying next to him. For a moment he was confused – Harley never got out of bed when he was still in it. Even when she woke up before him, she would just lie there staring at him and smiling lovingly. It was kinda creepy. And then once he was awake she would cling to him until he physically pushed her away. And even then she would keep trying to hold him, and keep asking him if he was in the mood to rev his Harley, until most days he literally had to kick her out of bed. But she wasn't there today. And then he remembered, with a rush of annoyance.

"Dammit, the worthless brat," he muttered, struggling to sit up. It hurt. The pain was more inconvenient than anything else at the moment, and his irritation only grew as he climbed out of bed and headed slowly for the kitchen. "Why did she have to go and get herself killed?"

He stormed into the kitchen and began rifling through the cupboards. As he grew more annoyed, he started smashing things. "Where are the goddamn pills?!" he shouted. "Harley, where…"

He stopped suddenly and gave up, resolving to tough out the pain. It wouldn't feel so bad after he had eaten, he assured himself. He grabbed the box of chocolate cereal from the counter and then threw open the door to the refrigerator. His face fell. "Why didn't the useless dame buy any milk if she was planning on dying?!" he shouted, kicking the refrigerator shut, which only added to the pain. He went over to the sink and poured water onto the cereal, then hobbled into the living room, muttering to himself. Another advantage of Harley being dead was that she wasn't trying to cheer him up. Normally when he woke up in a bad mood, she would always try to jolly him out of it, and it was always a terrible experience. He smiled at the thought that he would never have to suffer her attempts at comedy ever again – thank heaven for small blessings.

He collapsed on the sofa, reaching for the remote and flicking on the TV. He needed some noise while he ate. He needed some noise, period. This silence was getting really tiresome. He tried not to gag on the watered cereal and focused his attention instead on the news.

"…went up in flames following a confrontation with the Joker and his partner, Harley Quinn…"

"She was never my partner!" shouted Joker at the TV, furiously. "She was my sidekick! Robin to my Batman! Get it right, Ryder, or I'll come over to your station and give you some real headlines!"

"Batman escaped the conflagration but was unable to confirm if the Joker did as well. He did confirm, however, that Harley Quinn did not, perishing in the fire. Batman gave a statement earlier today in which he graciously praised his fallen adversary, and expressed his sincere regrets at being unable to save her. Such sympathy might seem out of place at the death of a violent criminal, but many believed Harley Quinn to be not entirely in control of her actions, but rather a victim of the Joker, being manipulated by him to serve his own ends."

"Hey, you can't blame me entirely for her!" snapped Joker. "I may have started her on the road to crazy, but she went off the rails entirely on her own! Why would I have wanted the clingy, useless dame following me around all the goddamn time? The joke got old really fast!"

"Emergency crews have been up most of the night putting out the blaze and clearing the rubble. The search continues this morning, but as yet no body has been found…"

Joker choked on his cereal. "No body?" he repeated. "No…no! No, the little brat can't do this to me!" he shouted, flinging the bowl at the wall and sending cereal spilling everywhere. "There's gotta be a body! She's gotta be dead! She can't get my hopes up like that and not be dead! She must know that wouldn't be funny! But on second thought, it would be just like the dumb blonde to think that's a good joke. Fake your death and then come back from the grave to annoy me, just when I thought I was free. I've had that joke pulled on me before. Bats has done it more times than I can count – thinking I've killed him at last only to be bitterly disappointed. The little brat ain't gonna fool me like that! I'm gonna find that body!" he shouted, standing up. "And if she ain't already dead, I'm gonna kill her myself! With no interference from Batboy this time!"

He winced suddenly at the pain, massaging his shoulder. Normally Harley would have done that. But she was dead. Dead, and she was not coming back to haunt him. He wouldn't let it happen.

He went to get dressed in the bedroom, picking up his suit from where he had thrown it in the corner. It looked terrible, all wrinkled and blood-stained, but he couldn't worry about that now – Harley would have normally taken care of that, though. He grabbed a few assorted joke items, then looked around for his gun. He had had it last night, but had forgotten where he'd put it. "Harley, you seen my gun?!" he shouted. "Harley…oh right, she's dead," he muttered. "At least she'd better be."

He found the gun at last, thrown under the bed, then headed for the car. "No body," he muttered, backing out of the driveway. "No body. I swear to God, Harley, you can't do anything right, can you?! You can't even die without messing it up! You stupid, worthless, infuriating woman!"

He was greeted with silence. She probably would have responded with something like, "Sorry, Mr. J. I'll do better next time, I promise."

"You'd better," he snapped in response to the imaginary conversation. "Or I'll pound your skull in with your own hammer!"

She would have giggled. She would have found that funny, and a little dirty. "Oh, Mr. J!" she would have sighed. "I love you, puddin'!"

"Shut up, you useless dame," he snapped. "Why can't you just go away and leave me in peace?!"

"I'm dead, Mr. J," she retorted. "You're the one who's not letting me go. You're talking to me even though I ain't here. You're gonna try to find my body, I dunno why. Don't you trust your Harley girl to be dead? Guess you're the clingy one after all, huh? Guess you really do need me, don't ya, puddin'? Ain't that why you're doing this?"

"No, you stupid girl, you don't get it!" he snapped. "You never get it, do you, Harley? I don't love you, and I don't need you! This is just to make sure you don't come back as a nasty surprise. This is just to confirm that I am truly free and single once more, with no useless dame clinging to me ever again."

"Anything you say, Mr. J," she replied. "I love you, puddin'."

"Shut up!" he repeated. "Just shut your goddamn mouth, will you, Harl? Just gimme some peace and quiet!"

And he suddenly remembered that there wasn't anyone else in the car. He had been talking to himself. And now there was peace and quiet, heavy, oppressive, maddening peace and quiet. He turned on the radio. "…the hunt continues for Harley Quinn's body…"

He snapped it off again. "Idiots," he snapped. "They can't find the body properly, Harley can't die properly, why is everyone so goddamn incompetent? It's like they're trying to drive me crazy, the whole damn lot of them. Driving me stark, raving mad."


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm sorry, sir, you can't come in here, it's a restricted area…" began the policeman guarding the site of the collapsed building. The window of the car was rolled down and the policeman stopped talking suddenly as he choked in horror.

"Hi, I'm the Joker," said Joker, extending his hand. "Here to join in the search for the body of my sidekick. That's sidekick, not partner. Just wanted to lend you boys a hand!"

He grabbed the policeman's hand in his, chuckling as an electric shock shot through him and his body fell to the ground. "Ah, lend a hand!" he laughed, getting out of the car and strolling over to the pile of rubble. "Gets me every time!"

"Oooh, long way down!" he exclaimed, appearing next to the hole that had been excavated and making the policeman on duty start. "You need to be careful you don't lose your balance and fall in! Watch that first step!" he laughed, shoving the man into the hole.

He turned to face the rest of the policemen at the excavation site, clearly terrified but reaching for their guns. "I just wanna thank you boys for all the hard work and effort you've put in trying to recover my Harley girl's body. Tragic as her death is, she wouldn't want us to cry at her passing, but to laugh at the life she lived, one of happiness, joy, and madness. So if you would all join me in a laugh – Harley baby, this one's for you!"

He laughed hysterically as he sprayed a cloud of Joker toxin from the flower in his buttonhole right at the policemen. Soon they were all laughing as they died, with a horrible grin on their faces.

Joker kept chuckling to himself as he grabbed the rope that had been set up as a way down into the pit and slid down it. He landed at the bottom of the hole, trying to ignore the pain shooting through him, and found himself in a tunnel. Picking up a flashlight from the body of the dead policeman he had pushed down the hole and flicking it on, he walked forward into the darkness.

He suddenly stepped in water. Looking down, he saw that an underground river ran down the tunnel, disappearing into the blackness up ahead. "Assuming the fire didn't kill her, the fall probably did," he muttered. "Unless she landed in water…and of course the body could have been carried a long way…"

He followed along the edge of the river. "She'd better be dead," he muttered to himself. "I feel like I've got a curse on me sometimes, stuck with an annoying, clinging brat forever. What have I ever done wrong in life to deserve that? I just try to make people smile and laugh – why am I punished like this? Because the world is a madhouse, like I've always said. You live your life calmly and peacefully, minding your own business, and suddenly life throws a crazy, clingy bitch at you that you can't seem to shake. Life probably thinks that's a pretty funny thing to do, but I wouldn't wish that fate on my worst enemy. Say what you like about Bats, he's got 99 problems but a bitch ain't one. I think he does have a cat problem, though," he chuckled. His laugh echoed down the tunnel, and he grinned to himself.

"I don't really need Harley for an audience – I just need to tell all my jokes in a tunnel and it's like everyone's laughing at them! Maybe that's why Bats hangs out in a cave. Maybe he secretly likes telling jokes, but he doesn't think they're good enough to tell to an audience, so he practices alone in his cave and imagines he has fans. I'll bet that's what he does. And I think that's the saddest thing I've ever heard."

He laughed hysterically. "Aw, I bet Bats is really torn up about Harley!" he chuckled. "He takes everything so seriously! Bet he's sitting in his cave and crying his little eyes out!" He chuckled madly. "I really hope Harley doesn't ruin that by turning out to be alive," he muttered, his face suddenly falling. "Well, she won't be for long," he said, smiling again as he felt the gun in his pocket. "And Batsy will have to live with her death on his conscience for the rest of his life! It'll just tear him to pieces inside! Ah, what a great gag!"

He kept laughing as he turned a corner, but stopped abruptly as he was suddenly struck in the face with a hammer. He fell to the ground and struggled to rise as he heard a familiar voice say, astonished, "Puddin'?"

He looked up with a kind of horror in his face to see Harley standing above him, holding her hammer in one hand. Her other arm was bandaged and her costume had been singed, but otherwise she looked none the worse for wear. She was staring at him in disbelief, but her face suddenly lit up in inexpressible joy. "Puddin'!" she exclaimed, throwing herself into his arms as he stood up, making him wince in pain. "You found me! Oh, I just knew you would! I knew if I kept hoping and believing, you'd come back to get me, because you love me, and you need me, doncha, puddin'?"

He couldn't respond before she had shoved her mouth upon his, kissing him passionately. "I heard your laugh and I thought I was dreaming!" she cried, hugging him in a choking embrace. "I was so scared, puddin', and I thought maybe I was going crazy, that my mind was making me think you were here because I was going outta my head! But I ain't going outta my head! You're real and you're here and you've come to rescue me! Oh, I love you, puddin'!"

She tried to kiss him again, but he shoved her away. "Harley, you're supposed to be dead!" he shouted, furiously. "Can't you do anything right, you useless dame?! You should be burnt to a crisp, or a bloody, mangled mess! Why the hell aren't you?!"

She gazed at him in shock. "Well…I…I didn't really fall into the fire – it was burning around me and singed me, but I mostly fell straight down through the floor and hit the water. Landed on my arm too, and broke it," she said, nodding at the bandage. "But otherwise I was ok. Just scared, y'know, and shocked. But like I said, I knew you'd come back for me. And you have. You did come back to find me, didn't you, puddin'?" she asked, pleadingly.

"I came back to find your body!" he snapped. "So I could make sure you were dead and I was free! But you just have to keep disappointing me, don't you, Harl?! Why won't you just die, you worthless little brat?!"

She gazed at him with tears in her eyes. "Puddin'…I…I thought you'd be happy I wasn't dead…"

"Happy?!" he repeated. "Happy that I've got my own personal ball and chain clapped back around my ankle?! Do I look happy, Harley?!"

"You were laughing…"

"I was laughing because I thought you were dead!" he interrupted. "And you ain't gonna ruin that joke for me, Harley! I won't let you! You're gonna be dead, so just be a good girl and die right now! And do it properly this time!" he shouted, ripping out his gun and pointing it at her face. He pulled the trigger…and the gun clicked. It was empty.

"Forgot the bullets, huh, puddin'?" asked Harley, quietly. "You really do need me to remind you of everything, doncha?"

He stared at the gun in disbelief, then growled, checking to make sure there weren't any bullets in his pocket. "You got any spare bullets, Harl?" he asked her.

In response, she punched him hard in the face. Then she seized her hammer and began beating him to the ground with her good arm. "You jerk!" she shrieked, furiously. "You horrible, selfish, ungrateful jerk! I'm alive, it's a goddamn miracle, and you wanna ruin that by killing me?! I thought you loved me, Mr. J! But you don't! You can't if you want me to be dead, you evil bastard! I hate you, Mr. J! I hate you!"

She stopped pounding him and seized the gun he had dropped. "I _do _have bullets, Mr. J, leftover from the fight with the Bat!" she shouted, withdrawing one and stuffing it into the barrel of the gun. "And guess what, jerk?! If you're so keen on people being dead, you get to try it out before I do! Any last words, clown?!"

She pointed the gun at his face as he slowly managed to get to his feet. He looked at her and smiled. "Missed you, pooh," he murmured.

She stared back at him, holding the gun firmly. "What?" she snapped.

"I said I missed you, pooh," he repeated. "When I thought you were dead. I missed you."

"Yeah?" she muttered.

"Yeah," he replied. "Things just didn't feel right without you. It was like there was something missing, y'know. Like my world didn't make sense anymore. I mean, I'm a pretty crazy guy. And if anything keeps me crazy, it's my little Harley girl."

She gazed at him. "You mean that, Mr. J?" she breathed.

"Sure I do, pumpkin pie," he replied. "I mean, look at us. You drive me crazy the way no one else can. And I need that. I need you, Harley Quinn."

Tears came to her eyes. "Oh, Mr. J!" she exclaimed, dropping the gun and rushing into his embrace. "Oh, Mr. J, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me! Oh, I love you, puddin'!"

He gritted his teeth, his hands slowly balling into fists. But he would punch her later, he thought, as he just held her tightly against him. He wasn't sure he could take the kid if she punched him back – she may have fallen down a hole and broken her arm, but after a fight with both Batman and Harley, Joker was in no fit state to start another one. No need to ruin the moment, anyway.

But the moment was ruined, by a black shape suddenly appearing in the tunnel. "Oh no, not you!" snapped Joker. "Haven't you caused enough trouble? Just get lost, would ya, Bats?"

"Harley. You're alive," said Batman.

"You sound really thrilled about that, Bats," retorted Harley, sarcastically. "No thanks to you, by the way. What did you mean attacking Mr. J like that? Couldn't you see he was trying to save me? You blind?!"

"I imagine he's blind as a bat, Harley," chuckled Joker.

She giggled uncontrollably. "Aw, Mr. J, you're so clever!" she sighed, kissing him.

Batman held up the handcuffs. "Are you two going to come quietly, or will I have to fight you?"

Joker and Harley shared a look. "I got a broken arm, and I just beat the crap outta Mr. J," she said. "I don't really think we can take you, Bats."

Batman nodded and came forward. "Psych!" shouted Joker, punching him, at the same instant Harley hit him with her hammer. They both laughed their way through the incredibly short fight, and continued laughing as Batman led them into the Batmobile and drove off.

"I can't believe you fell for it, Bats!" chuckled Joker. "Like we would ever just surrender!"

"He's a real thicko, Mr. J!" laughed Harley.

"Now pooh, that ain't a very nice thing to say about a man who gave you, and I quote, 'a statement in which he graciously praised his fallen adversary, and expressed his sincere regrets at being unable to save her.'"

"Really?" asked Harley, astonished. "You praised me, B-man? What did you say?"

"It doesn't matter now that you're alive," retorted Batman.

"Aw, sure it does!" she exclaimed. "A gal always likes to hear nice things about herself – it don't matter if she's alive or dead! I'll bet you gave me a real nice eulogy, Batsy. C'mon, I'm sure you can remember it."

"It wasn't a eulogy," he retorted. "It was a short statement expressing my regret. That's all."

"I gave you a little eulogy, pooh," said Joker, smiling. "It was a lot of fun – everyone died laughing!"

"Aw, Mr. J, you're the greatest!" she exclaimed, beaming at him. "I'm a lucky gal to have two super guys who are so torn up about me dying. Makes a girl feel good, I tell ya."

She kissed Joker tenderly and cuddled up next to him in the backseat, wrapping her arms around his neck. He sighed. The clinging wasn't going to stop. Harley was alive, and was probably going to stay that way for a long time, whether he liked it or not. He supposed he would have to just smile and make the best of it. But as he looked down at her pretty little face, he found that smiling wasn't actually that hard to do.

"I love you, puddin'," she breathed, kissing him. And Joker's hands slowly tightened into fists.

**The End**


End file.
